


The Right Wrong Door

by theianitor



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Gangsters, M/M, Medical Procedures, Prompt Fill, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 01:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11392218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theianitor/pseuds/theianitor
Summary: Fernando helps Carlos's "friend" and remembers when Mark, luckily, knocked on the wrong door.





	The Right Wrong Door

**Author's Note:**

> Another fill from the AU list, for a very nice person, who asked "For the AU post: can I ask Webbonso and number 28 please? Thank you ☺️ (If you feel like it obviously)". :) I felt like it, and here it is!  
> 28: knocking on the wrong door au. Bit of swearing, bit of injuries and blood but nothing horribly gory. Hope you like it! :)

Fernando took off his suit jacket and checked the time again. His appointments weren’t always punctual, he knew that, but when Mark said fifteen minutes, he meant fifteen minutes. He heard someone on the stairs leading down to the small basement apartment that had been rented to an ‘F. Alonso’ a long time ago, before the contract had been transferred to a Mr. Garcia who always paid his rent on time and never bothered his neighbors.

The key in the door meant it was Mark; otherwise a very specific knock would have been required. Fernando rolled up his shirt sleeves and cast an eye on his instruments, all lined up neatly on the little tray next to the table. He started putting on gloves as Mark and Carlos came through the door, dragging another young man between them. He was white, tall, blonde, and wearing a leather jacket with the same kind of patches that Carlos had on his. Fernando took mental notes as Mark and Carlos tried to get him up on the table.

“What happened?” he asked, taking out a pair of scissors. The blonde guy’s leg was covered in blood and it seemed to be coming from his thigh.

“The idiot tried to snatch-and-grab at the corner store. Old man Lauda introduced him to Betsy.” Mark sounded less than impressed. The only ones who seemed worried were Carlos and the guy, who winced and whined as they helped him lie down on his front.

“Please, you can help?” Carlos asked, and Fernando didn’t miss that he was holding on to the guy’s hand.

“He pays full price,” Fernando said, snipping the scissors once before tugging on the leg of the guy’s jeans to straighten the fabric.

“No! Wait!” the guy said through clenched teeth. “Don’t cut them, please.”

Mark and Fernando looked at each other.

“And why not?”

“Just... please,” he pleaded.

“Do not worry about your fucking pants!” Carlos snapped.

“Fine.” Fernando reached in under the guy, got the button and zipper open and then roughly tugged to get the pants off. The guy screamed.

“Stop!” Carlos said, distressed. “Stop, you hurt him!”

“I cut, or I pull,” Fernando said plainly. “You stay and help, or could go to the kitchen and complain where I cannot hear you.” The room was quiet for a second, and then he proceeded to tug the pants off, ignoring the cries from the guy.

“Mark, leg,” Fernando instructed. Mark moved to the end of the table and took hold of the guy’s ankles. “What is his name?”

“Hulk.”

Fernando scoffed and Mark chuckled.

“ _Is_ his name, his last name,” Carlos muttered, holding on tight to Hulk’s hand.

 

Fernando looked over the injury in front of him. Old man Lauda’s eyes must be getting worse, he thought to himself, and Hulk was all the more lucky for it. In the old days, Lauda never would have missed so badly that anyone would have gotten away with a bit of buckshot in the leg.

“Is going to hurt, but you need to be still.” He rolled his chair to the bookshelf and took down two bottles and a small glass. He opened the whiskey, poured some into the glass, and put it on the table between Hulk’s legs.

“You lie still, you get the drink,” he said, opening the bottle of antiseptic. He gave Mark and Carlos a look before leaning in closer, bottle in one hand, forceps in the other.

 

Not even an hour later he took off his gloves, admiring the work he had done. It had been a lucky hit, only three pellets that he’d easily extracted, and the rest was mostly cleanup. A few stitches, a few bandages, and Hulk had, despite being noisy, been mostly still during the whole procedure. Fernando was thankful for the extra insulation he had gotten installed. Hulk was lying on his side with a towel strategically placed over his hips; his pants were in a plastic bag on the floor. The color had returned to his face and he was smiling, sipping his whiskey and talking to Carlos.

“Another satisfied customer,” Mark said, making sure Fernando didn’t have anything sharp in his hands before leaning down to hug him from behind. “Love watching you work. Especially when it’s not on me.” He kissed Fernando’s cheek. When he looked up he realized Hulk and Carlos were watching them.

“Got something to say?” Mark said, still with his arms around Fernando. Both of the younger men turned away quickly; Carlos already knew, and Hulk knew not to mess with Mark. Fernando reached up and ruffled Mark’s hair.

“Will finish up here and then we can go home?”

Mark kissed him again, got up and went to check that the outside was clear.

“Carlos,” Fernando said, switching to Spanish before going on, “are you a faster runner than this boy?”

“Yes?”

“Good. You have my blessing. If he pulls any more stupid shit while you’re around, you’ll run away and he’ll get shot.” Carlos looked shocked, and Fernando kept a straight face for as long as he could before the mask cracked into a grin.

“And you,” he said in English, turning serious and looking at Hulk. “You do not do stupid shit when my boy is with you. Your ass is shot, I do not care. My boy gets shot, your ass is mine. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” Hulk said, putting his glass down. Carlos helped him get a pair of borrowed pants on, Fernando and Hulk agreed on a price, and Mark helped Hulk get up the stairs. Carlos stayed behind for a second.

“Some day you have to tell me how you and Mark met,” he said, “you’re so secretive about it.”

“I’ve already told you,” Fernando said with a little smile, “he knocked on the wrong door and got lucky.”

 

\--

 

_Some time ago..._

The microwave pinged, signaling that his dinner was ready. Fernando pulled the plastic off and looked at the grayish gunk that filled the paper plate, resigning himself to thinking of it as belly filler and nothing else. He also promised himself to never buy this crap again. He sat down on the couch, the tiny TV already on in expectation of a football game, and it was really the only good thing about tonight. He should have been on the rig, should have been out there getting hours and saving lives... but instead he was sat at home, eating gloopy food, watching football.

Fernando knew he could be a little cocky, but he was _good_ , goddamnit! He studied hard, worked hard, signed up for all the extra hours of practice he could get – until he ran straight into the wall that was Dr. Wolff. What other senior doctors saw as endearing, devoted, daring, and forward, Dr. Wolff saw as cocky, insubordinate, arrogant, and annoying. Dr. Wolff played favorites, and those he favored most were those who conformed to how _he_ wanted medicine to be. At the rate he was cutting Fernando’s work to pieces Fernando wouldn’t be an EMT any time soon.

He was halfway through the slop when a sudden banging on the door had him on his feet.

“Mikey!” a voice called from the other side, “Mikey, fuck’s sake, open up!”

Preparing to tell some drunk neighbor that he was definitely not Mikey, Fernando opened the door.

Outside he found a man about his own age. He had a leather jacket on and was clutching his side, bent over like he was in pain. The knuckles on both his hands were raw, a couple of them were bleeding. His boots were dusty and the knees on his jeans were scuffed and torn.

“Jense sent me, I have money, let me in,” he gasped, more or less falling through the door when Fernando stepped aside out of pure shock.

“I am sorry, I am not...” Fernando started, but the man stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a fistful of crumpled bills. Fernando’s eyes widened. It looked a lot like that month’s rent – and a nice meal.

“We can count it later mate just... I’m bleeding.” He moved his hand to reveal a blood-stained shirt. From what Fernando could see he was wounded in the lower chest or stomach, considering the man was still breathing quite easily the stomach was more likely. He glanced back at his living room. He didn’t exactly have an examination table in his home.

“On the couch, on your back.” The couch had come with the apartment and it was shit anyway, not like a little bit of blood would be that bad. Fernando rushed to get his bag of useful items he’d acquired through med-school. The man groaned as he lay down and pulled up his shirt, and Fernando carefully touched the sticky skin.

The wound wasn’t as deep as he’d feared, but it was a couple of inches long and was still bleeding. It was fresh, and since it had been bleeding for a bit it was fairly clean. He deduced that the man had been in a fight with someone who had been armed. Looking up, he thought the man’s jaw looked like it might break a fist if someone had hit him in the face.

“What is your name?” he asked reflexively, taking out swabs, rubbing alcohol, and a suture kit. When he looked back, the man was looking at him curiously.

“Jense didn’t tell you?”

“Eh... for sure, yes,” Fernando tried. If he could fake his way through this, patch this guy up, and take the money, he’d be fine. “He said, but I forgot.”

“You forgot, Mikey?” It didn’t sound like the man believed him. “Name’s Mark. Now stitch me up.”

Fernando was glad he’d taken as many supplies from school as he had. Sure, it was technically stealing, but he figured it was good if someone with a medical education was well equipped in the event of an emergency. Such as when an unknown stabbed guy turned up at his door, called him Mikey and paid good money for medical care. He uncapped the syringe and prepared to numb the area. In his head he was already planning it all step by step – numb it, clean it, stitch it. Simple.

“That’s fancy,” the man commented as he looked at the needle. “Usually it’s a shot of whiskey and ‘lie still you bastard’.” When Fernando put the needle in, the man groaned. “Fuck. I think I prefer the whiskey.”

“Can call you bastard if you like,” Fernando said, trying to focus. “You lie still, maybe you get whiskey.” Getting critiqued by the patient was not part of his plan.

“Alright, no need for pisstaking, I hear you.”

While he waited for the shot to take effect Fernando cleaned up the skin around the wound as best he could. It was very different to the hospital, to the rig, to everything he’d trained for. He felt nervous and at the same time strangely exhilarated.

“Can take care of that, while we wait,” he said, reaching for Mark’s hand. Mark didn’t say anything, but looked very wary. Fernando wet a swab with alcohol and cleaned his knuckles; the skin was mostly intact but Mark had definitely hit something quite hard. He let Fernando clean his other hand without a word, but Fernando could feel his eyes on him, watching every move. When he was done he cautiously touched the skin near the cut. Mark didn’t react, which meant it was numb enough.

“Am going to stitch you now...” he said, threading the needle.

“Keep it pretty will you, I need to be able to take my shirt off at the beach.” It took Fernando a few seconds to realize that Mark was joking, but when he looked over he was smiling at him. Fernando couldn’t help but smile back.

“So... you were stabbed?”

Mark’s smile disappeared. He put his head back down but his eyes were still on Fernando. Taking a hint, Fernando stayed quiet until he had finished and cut the thread.

“Am done,” he said, leaning back. Now that the emergency was over, he realized how dumb this had been. Sure, money was a good thing, but... this man was probably some kind of criminal. He was also a whole lot fitter than Fernando, his injury would slow him down but Fernando’s best bet if things turned violent would definitely be to run away. And this guy knew where he lived.

“Alright, we’ve both figured it out,” Mark said as if he could read Fernando’s mind. “You’re not Mikey, are you?” Fernando shook his head, making sure he had traction enough to jump away from Mark if it would become necessary. Mark, however, chuckled.

“Yeah no offense mate but you don’t look very ginger, old, or fat. A friend in need and all that though.” He looked down at his stomach. “This looks a lot better than some of the work I’ve seen Mikey do.” He glanced at Fernando’s bag. “You’re actually a proper doctor, aren’t you?”

“Am studying to be,” Fernando said, finally removing his bloody gloves and closing his bag. “Going to be an emergency technician.”

“Looks like you’re gonna make a good one.” He rolled his shirt back down, the blood already drying and dark red. “Do I get that whiskey now?”

“No, shouldn’t drink right after...” Fernando started before remembering what kind of person he was talking to. “I mean...”

“Don’t worry mate, a little one won’t kill me. But if you like, I could come back for it later? When the stitches need to come out?”

“Eh... yes?” Fernando eyed the money on the floor again.

“You could make a lot of money doing this,” Mark said as he stood up, carefully zipping up his jacket to cover his stained shirt. “How are you with bullets?”

“Have... have never tried.”

“First time for everything,” Mark shrugged, then winced. “I’ll see you in about a week?”

“Yes... try to rest. Do not get shot!” he added. Mark grinned.

 

A week and a day later, Mark knocked on his door again, looking a lot better and insisting on bringing him dinner. Fernando supplied the promised whiskey, and together they figured out that Mark had been given such bad directions that he’d ended up at the wrong building in the wrong block. Finding someone who was able to fix him up anyway had been pure luck. Fernando checked Mark’s stitches and they had a few more whiskeys. Later they discussed propositions of both business and pleasure, and Fernando had never looked back.

 

\--

 

Carlos and Fernando looked on as Mark got Hulk a ride home. He’d need to rest for a while, but he would be fine.

“He did not believe I know you,” Carlos said. Now that he was a little calmer he gave Fernando a brief hug. “He did not believe I know Mark either.”

“So? Are you together with him for his brains?” Fernando tutted, and Carlos laughed.

“Are you with Mark for his brains?” he retorted.

“No,” Fernando said with a smile. “But he is very lucky.”

 

\- The End -

**Author's Note:**

> All in good fun, as per usual! Thanks for the read! <3


End file.
